


Nornir

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki has a long and broad memory, yes, and it’s close-knit, too.  She never allows an experience to leave her—but even she cannot recall her own birth. She knows she must have come into the world the same way as most, eyes pulled shut and screams piercing the night. (Rule 63! Loki/Thor)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nornir

Loki has a long and broad memory, yes, and it’s close-knit, too.  She never allows an experience to leave her—but even she cannot recall her own birth. She knows she must have come into the world the same way as most, eyes pulled shut and screams piercing the night.

She remembers her childhood, though, long stretching years of dirt games and learning the names of the stars. The very first thing she remembers is her sister peering wide-eyed at her, asking her to play. Loki accepts, and well. That’s that.

Loki grows up strong-willed and thin-bodied, so—in the age-old tradition of men—they call her a whore. She cuts her hair off a little past her shoulders and fights better with words than with steel. Asgard is her home, but it grates against her sometimes, the very _wrongness_ of it scraping at her skin.

\--

Loki should’ve known something had occurred the instant she saw Thor with her legs hanging off the edge of their mother’s balcony. Thor is hiding and she is not one for that. In the brave and foolhardy tradition of Asgardian rulers, she always stands her ground.

“Am I unlovable?” Thor says, voice low, tension bunching the muscles of her shoulders. Loki also should’ve known better than to attempt to sneak up on her own sibling.

Loki lets out a breath and moves light to crouch beside her sister. “Thor, what is it?”

Thor stares ahead. Loki can see tears behind her eyes and it makes her cold, because Thor doesn’t cry.

“Am I, sister? Am I ugly and broken and impossible to love?” her eyes have rage in them, now, beneath the hurt.

Loki winds her arms around Thor’s shoulders. “Oh, sister, no,” she whispers. Why is it that she can always find the words to hurt but never to heal?

“Who’s been telling you these lies?” she tries. “You, Thor, of all people—ugly and unlovable? So many maidens would take up a sword against you for those golden locks and blue eyes.” Loki reaches up a hand to stroke the hair back off Thor’s forehead. “You’ve always been the pretty one of us, not that it means much.”

“No, sister,” Thor murmurs. “It’s definitely you. You’ve broken half the hearts in Asgard, I think, with your clever words.”

Loki laughs, her nimble fingers digging out the tension in Thor’s back. “No one writes songs about dark-haired, straight-bodied women, sister.”

“Maybe they should,” Thor says, and closes her eyes against Loki’s chest.

\--

Someone calls Loki a word, once, after seeing her conjure a butterfly for Thor—they’re her sister’s favorite insect, but the cold makes them scarce.

 The word the king’s guard uses is for Loki, and it means sorcerer, the kind given to petty thievery, the kind that is a woman. She spins on her heel and flings a word of her own back—this one means coward, weakest of men. On some tongues, it means woman, too. The guard goes pale and silent for a moment, and then he hits her. She trips back and feels her shoulder connect with the ground, and by the time she manages to look up, he’s gone.

Once she’s down Thor’s above her in an instant, hand proffered, voice raised. “Loki!”

 “I’m fine,” she says, pulling herself up.  “He is—he consorts with those he shouldn’t, I can twist him in front of the whole of Asgard, Thor, I---“

Thor’s face pulls down in her anger. “No, sister, you shall not stoop to that. You are an Asgardian.”

“A rather lousy one,” Loki pants, pushing herself off Thor’s shoulder.

“You needn’t taunt him. I’ll teach you to fight.”

Loki brushes off her skirts. “I’d like to see you try.”

Something in Thor’s face comes alight, and Loki groans. “That wasn’t a challenge, sister.”

Thor grins. “Meet me at my training circle tomorrow,” she says cheerfully. “And I think it was.”

\--

Loki fights with words. She’s good at that. Sometimes, if the opponent is too strong and has hurt her too deeply, she pulls out her sorcery and uses it like a sharp whip against their skin. She does _not_ use her fists.

“Bring up your elbow when you block—no, not that much, you’ll over-balance—“

“ _You_ do it, then,” Loki growls. Sweat is pressing against her forehead, dripping down the back of her thin fighting shift.

“I have been,” Thor says, grinning as she lands a sharp jab against Loki’s shoulder. “Block that, sister, and check your grip. You’re starting to loosen.”

“Probably because we’ve been doing this for hours, and I’m not built like a bull,” she hisses, trying to get a jab in under Thor’s arm and missing it entirely.

“So callous,” laughs Thor, easily redirecting Loki’s sword back to ram it against her own forehead. “You tire already? And you call yourself strong?”

Loki’s anger flares inside her like flint striking a flame and she lunges sloppily towards her opponent.

“There we go,” calls Thor as she dances out of reach with Loki jabbing after her. Loki feels the wood of her sword connect with flesh, _finally,_ and lets out a sharp breath.

“The battle doesn’t end with a wound,” Thor says, but it’s too late and Loki’s relaxed, body trembling with assertion. She lifts her blade to stop Thor, but there’s no strength behind it, and Thor barrels her over onto the ground, pinning her down.

“I know I critiqued much,” Thor murmurs, her hands fisting into the fabric of Loki’s shift. “But you fought well for someone of your size and experience. We’ll make an Asgardian out of you yet,” she finishes cheerfully, and Loki wriggles underneath her.

“Maybe I don’t want to be an Asgardian. They certainly don’t want me.”

“Nonsense. _I_ want you,” Thor says, as if that’s enough. Well, thinks Loki, giving up the struggle and letting her body rest beneath Thor. It probably is.

\--

Loki runs a hand a few inches above the stretch of her collarbone Thor had used to pin her to the ground, murmurs a few words in a language many would think long-dead and watches as the mottled green and purple bruise disappears from her skin. Satisfied, she pulls the olive sleeve of her dress back up, startling at the knock on her door.

“Yes?”

“Are you ready for the ceremony, my sister?”

Loki smiles to herself before turning to Thor. Her sister is always ready to eat and drink and fight alongside half of Asgard.

“You look good,” Thor smiles, resting her hand on Loki’s shoulder. “You are mostly healed, I see.”

“It’s all glamour,” Loki replies wryly. “Don’t worry, sister, the blow you dealt me still smar—Thor!”

“What?” her sister asks, playing naïve.

“You’re supposed to be dressed for the ceremony!”

“I am,” Thor says, grin wild but forced at the edges.

And she is, to a point—she’s dressed how their father will be, armor crossing her chest and a cape draped from her shoulders.

Loki sighs. “Thor, it’s one night. Need you fight it so strongly?”                

“Yes,” Thor says, simply, and Loki closes her eyes in prayer. Thor is—disagreeble, sometimes, though perhaps that is not the right word. She has her own rules and she plays by then, but Loki sometimes worries that her rules don’t match up with everyone else’s.

Her sister turns and starts down the corridor without another word; Loki sighs, and follows.

\--

Loki stands her ground in front of her sister, legs spread in her small version of a fighting stance. She can’t offer much resistance if Thor actually does decide to get physical, but at the very least her sister will have to hear her out.

“I told you that it was a foolish thing to do,” she says. She knows her voice is harsh and feels little desire to hide it. Thor must learn the lessons Loki first heard when her own father’s guard pushed her off her feet, slammed her to the floor, cursed her in words meant only for women, because that’s all she is. They are taught they are gods; they mean only the men.

“Taking up men’s clothing—I understand it on the battlefield, but in these matters? Thor, I—“

Thor steps forward, eyes dark with anger. “It is _not_ men’s clothing, Loki, it is armor; if I can wear it to wage war I think I can damn well wear it to drink.”

Loki lets the fight drain out of her muscles. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Maybe it should,” Thor says. Her voice is still hard, muscles tight in her arms where Loki can see. She leans forward, suddenly, and kisses Loki quickly across the mouth.

“You look lovely, sister. I did mean that.” Thor pulls her cape around her as she leaves. Loki is left with the taste of mead transferred from Thor’s mouth to hers, and a buzz low in her stomach.

\--

If Loki looks at Thor with desire, it’s only a sister’s appreciation of beautiful things.

\--

Loki lets her eyes fall on Thor, taking in the curve of her chest underneath her simple fighting wear. She will be regal, someday, and look the part-- Asgard is deeply entrenched in its monarchy, which means that one day the throne will turn over to her or to Loki—or  rather, it _should._ Loki thinks they’ll probably try and stop them both, rip every last scrap of agency they’ve managed to save. She’ll fight it, though; with every ounce of strength and _whorish_ conniving she has, for the both of them.

“I must rule, one day, you know,” Thor says. She’s giddy after a night of fighting, and, apparently, on a similar page as her sister. Her body sprawls over the bed in a mess of limbs, taking up most of the surface. Loki perches on the edge, her skirts rustling where Thor shifts on them.

“It’ll be glorious, sister—just like the stories of old, the ones you told me when we were children. I’ll fight the sort of battles they write ballads about; my rule will bring its own era, be taught in the tales of history—“ Thor rolls over and smiles a dangerous smile at Loki. “I’ll surpass our father.”

“I’ll be a king,” she says softly, to the ceiling. “No one will be able to stop me.”

Loki chews her lip as she twists her hair over her shoulder. _I could,_ she thinks. _I could._

Thor regales her with plans to conquer the universe and Loki listens in silence, her hand stroking through Thor’s hair. Thor falls asleep eventually, her face relaxing into the broad, thick, lines of resting. Loki presses her lips to her sister’s forehead and curls up beside her.

She doesn’t sleep that night, paints pictures of an impossible rule on the wall with her magic. _King Loki_ , her banners read. _With her advisor Thor._

\--

Thor is drunk. She’s an arm looped over Loki’s shoulder, and Loki can smell the alcohol on her breath.

“I won,” slurs Thor.

Loki sighs, hefts her sister up further, and makes a partially successful attempt to pat her on the back. “You did, sister. You certainly beat Anundr.”

“You should’ve tried,” continues Thor. “It’s fun.”

“I can’t hold my liquor like you do,” Loki murmurs, which isn’t true, but she doesn’t want Thor trying to best her.

Thor is silent for a long moment, seemingly to concentrate on the ground. Loki is thankful for the silence, a welcome respite from the roar of the banquet. She guides them carefully to her room—she’d go for Thor’s, but it’s farther, and she’d rather not wake to find her sister drowned in a pile of her own vomit, anyway.

Not that Thor normally makes herself sick, but. Better safe than sorry, she tells herself as she props Thor up against a wall so she can get the door open.

She pulls Thor in behind her and mutters a spell under her breath to send tiny flames into the air. She thinks the lamp beside her bed could be a bit much for her sister. “Best get some rest, Thor.”

Thor falls back onto the bed obligingly, staring bright-eyed at the little flames. “I’ve never understood our father’s distaste for magic,” she says, almost to herself.

 _Probably because it’s me practicing it_ , Loki thinks, but she doesn’t say it, just peers at Thor. “Sleep, sister,” she says gently.

Thor wrinkles her nose—she’s so _childish_ when intoxicated—and pats the bed beside her. “Come lie with me.”

Loki sighs, but obeys. She doesn’t bother to change, just throws herself down beside her sister.

“Thanks for letting me borrow your bed,” Thor says. She curls her body to the side, nose pressing against the dip of Loki’s neck. “You’re cold, sister.”

“I’m fine,” Loki says, but Thor’s hand is already curved over her cheek, and before she knows what’s going on, Thor is kissing her. Thor’s lips are warm, soft, large; her breath sweet with drink. Loki is frozen by her taste.

“There,” Thor proclaims as she pulls back. “Your mouth was cold, too.”

“Thor—“ Loki manages, trying to get her arms to push her away.

“I love you,” Thor says, voice flat. “I do. I hope you know.”

“You’re drunk,” Loki says sharply, heart pounding against her chest.

“You’re pretty,” Thor grins. She doesn’t look tired—did she ever? Loki can’t remember—and her eyes are bright. She knows what she’s doing.

“No—“ but there’s a deep rumble in her chest, a roar plastering over all of her defenses.

“Come back down on the bed, sister,” Thor says, and Loki feels herself obey. Thor’s fingers twitch over the strings binding the layers of her dress, undoing them at an ungodly slow pace. Loki hisses through her teeth and holds up a hand, her magic loosening the binding on Thor’s practice armor. Her sister blinks, looking down at the hanging straps, and grins.

“Thank you,” Thor murmurs. Her lips brush over Loki’s and Loki feels her toes curl; her body thrum.

“Yes,” she says. It’s enough, enough to let Thor know what she wants. Thor grins, cheeks still flushed with drink and perhaps, now, something else. Her fingers, calloused from her warrior’s grip, are strangely soft as she slides Loki’s sleeve off her shoulder.

Loki gasps a little at the uncovering, but it’s not what she expected. It doesn’t feel wrong at all. She lets her eyes lock with Thor, sees the desire she’s been denying mirrored on her sister’s face. She reaches beneath the now-freed armor and feels Thor’s breasts underneath her palms, nipples hardening to the touch. She breathes deep, her hands trailing down over her sister’s stomach.

“Yes,” she says again, and Thor draws her close.

Loki lets her sister take her, that night. She lets Thor dig her fingers into her and shift, lets Thor make her gasp and writhe beneath her, their mess smearing the fabric of their discarded clothes. She keeps the magicked flames lit so that she can see the fire dance in Thor’s eyes, and she can’t find it in herself to regret it.

\--

The only truly regrettable thing, she decides when she wakes the next morning (still sticky between her thighs, she can’t simply pretend this thing didn’t happen), is not what they have, but rather that they cannot keep it. Thor is not hers to take.

She stares down at her sister, face smooth in sleep, hair splayed out around her like a broken halo.

“Good morning, sister,” she says, out loud, and presses her lips to Thor’s forehead. What she cannot have to keep she must still hold onto for as long as she can. Because it’s never mattered whether Asgard wants her, just that Thor _does_.

\--

When Loki looks back on her life, she can remember the important parts with stunning clarity. She knows there were two things she desired more than anything else in her life, two shining golden things. The throne and her sister, and now she has neither.

She never said she wouldn’t take them by force.

\--

_“I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose.”_


End file.
